Shorn: Chapter 12

“We need to make a trip to town.” Melda had just finished making bread and had flour all over her hands. Shorn was splitting wood. “I just used up the last of our flour. We need salt too. Cloth to make some new clothes for the children. Kit’s trousers are mostly holes.”

She looked at the axe. “We need a bigger axe too.” Shorn had broken the handle on this one several times already. It was just too small.

She rinsed her hands at the well. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to find one in your size. We can probably order one. We should get a metal spearhead also.” She looked at the sky. “We’ll go tomorrow if the weather’s good.”

The next day dawned sunny with only a few high clouds. The children helped hitch Shorn to their creaky old wagon, although they weren’t all that much help. They were too excited about going to town.

As Melda buckled a strap Shorn couldn’t reach, she said, “I wish we could afford a horse. I feel bad about doing this to you, Shorn.”

Lysa piped up. “But Shorn makes a great horse!” She plucked a handful of grass and held it up to Shorn. “Is horsey hungry?”

Shorn chuckled. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough grass today.”

“I don’t think Shorn wants to be a horse forever. As well as the crops are doing, we might be able to afford one this fall. I’ll ask around while we’re in town.”

Melda lifted Ren onto the seat and climbed up after her. “Load up! We need to get on the road if we want to get back by dark.”

The three older children climbed in the back, all talking loudly and excitedly. They had some hides in the wagon—mostly deer and elk, but also a bearskin and some rabbit pelts—and a cage with a half dozen young chickens. They had no coin and would have to barter for everything. This far out, most people bartered. Coins were rare.

“How’s the harness, Shorn?” Melda called out. He held up a thumb. “Then let’s go.”

The road was badly overgrown and rough, making the going slow. Once, Shorn had to get out of the harness and move a tree that had fallen across the road. The wagon briefly got stuck in the mud during one of the stream crossings, but Shorn was able to pull it out.

“Can we get some candy in town?” Kit asked. “Please?” More pleases followed his.

“We will see,” Melda replied. “Maybe we can, if there’s anything left after we buy what we need.”

Pol jumped up and thrust his fist in the air. “Candy!” The other kids took up the chant. Melda smiled and let them carry on. It was good to see them so cheerful and full of life after the painful winter they’d endured.

They stopped partway through the morning to give Shorn a break. The road was mostly downhill. It was going to be a lot more difficult on the way home.

“What is this town called?” Shorn asked.

“I’m not sure.”

He gave her an inquiring look.

“It hasn’t been there very long. When we came out here to settle this land four years ago, it was only a camp with a dozen tents and some crude livestock pens. For the first couple of years, people called it Dale’s Camp, after the first man to set up there. But last year when we went, others had taken to calling it Sweetwater. It seemed to be a subject of much discussion.”

Shorn’s heavy brow creased. “I am…concerned about going into town. They will not react well to me. Perhaps I should wait outside with the wagon until you are finished.”

Melda shook her head. “There’s no way I can carry those hides. I’m not sure the kids can carry the chicken cage. We need you.”

“It will cause much alarm.”

“Then we’ll deal with it. People there know me. I can talk sense into them.”

She sounded confident. Shorn did not share her confidence.

“Besides, they have to get used to you sooner or later. This won’t be the last time we need supplies from town.”

“What you say is true.” Shorn still didn’t like it, but she was right. People would have to get used to him. He hoped it could be done peacefully. He didn’t want the children to see any more violence.

Melda was helping Shorn back into the harness when she said, “One of the reasons I want to buy an axe is because I think it’s time we started building you your own home.”

“I do not mind the barn.”

“Maybe you don’t, but I do. You’re part of our family, Shorn. You shouldn’t be living in a barn. End of discussion.” When she used that tone, Shorn knew arguing with her was pointless, so he gave in.

“With a proper axe, I could fell the trees. But I do not know how to build a house.”

“That’s okay. I do.”

“We’ll help,” Lysa said.

The others chimed in as well. Even Ren said, “Help.”

They resumed their journey. The weather stayed nice, though it got hotter as the sun reached its zenith. They broke out of the forest and got a splendid view of the valley stretched out before them. Far to the west, some days travel, was a line of mountains. More mountains were visible to the north. To the south the valley faded into a series of rounded hills.

“There it is.” Melda pointed. Shorn stopped and shielded his eyes from the sun to see where she was pointing.

The town wasn’t much. Maybe thirty buildings total, all of them quite small. There were fields around it and a scattering of farms spread out nearby. He could see a few people moving about.

Melda stood up to see better, squinting. “They put up a palisade. That wasn’t here last year.”

“They had trouble.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” She looked worriedly at the children, and Shorn knew she was thinking she should have left them at the farm. That carried its own risks, but if trouble started…

The few people they saw working in the fields as they approached the town were all some distance away, too far to get a good look at Shorn, though some stared for a while before going back to work.

They were only a couple hundred paces from the town when a man came walking out of the open gate.

Here we go, Shorn thought.

The man was looking at a small bundle he was carrying, not paying any attention to them. As he got close, he looked up and straight at Shorn. Shorn was wearing his long cloak with the hood pulled up, so it took the man a moment to register his scarred, alien features.

He gave a yelp, dropped his bundle and ran back toward the town at top speed, shrieking the whole way.

“That went well,” Shorn said.

“Don’t feel bad,” Lysa called out. “They’re just not used to you like we are. They’ll get over it.”

The man’s shouts could still be heard even after he disappeared from sight. Two men hurried out and began dragging the gate shut as quickly as they could. Somewhere, a bell began to ring.

They rolled up to the gate and halted. The palisade was about half again as tall as a man, which meant Shorn could reach the top without jumping. The logs were still raw and green, evidence the fence had been built recently.

Heads popped up over the top of the wall. One of the men had a pitchfork, the other a spear. Both men looked terrified.

“Go away, demon!” yelled the man with the pitchfork. “I’m warning you.” He shook his pitchfork.

“Hal, is that you?” Melda called out.

He peered at her, seeming to notice her and the children for the first time. “Is that you, Melda?”

“You know good and well it is. I’ve been here enough times.”

“Where’s Lorn?” He gave Shorn a frightened look, as if maybe he’d eaten the man.

“Lorn died over the winter.”

“Might sorry about that.” Hal pointed his pitchfork at Shorn. “What is that thing?”

“It’s Shorn!” Kit yelled. “He’s harmless.”

“That ain’t what I would call him. He’s got murder written all over him.”

“He won’t cause any trouble,” Melda replied. “Shorn has been living with us these past few months. He’s my hired hand.”

By then there were a half dozen other men up on the walkway peering over the top of the wall. They carried a variety of weapons, from a bent sword to hoes and wood axes. One had a bow. They were all staring at Shorn and talking excitedly among themselves.

“I don’t care what he is,” Hal called back. “He ain’t coming in.”

Another person climbed up onto the walkway next to Hal. He was very young, probably still in his teens. He carried a shovel with a wide scoop that was crusted in manure. On his head was a rusted helmet with a slitted visor.

He raised the visor and peered at Shorn. “You can’t come in! Go find someone else to e—” The visor clanged shut while he was talking, muffling what he said next.

“What are you doing up here, Otho?” Hal snapped. “You know your job is waiting by the well with the buckets. Who’s going to put out the fires now?”

Otho raised the visor again. “But there ain’t no fires, Hal.”

“Not yet, there isn’t. But there might be. You can’t fight them from here.”

“You don’t—” The visor clanged shut, cutting off the rest.

“And take that helmet off. I told you not to wear it. You look ridiculous.”

“I do not. It makes me look like a famous hero.”

“A famous idiot is more like it.”

“You’re just jealous. You wish it was your helmet.”

“No, I’m not. Why would I want to wear a piece of rusted old garbage on my head? Get out of here, I’m on official business.” He pushed Otho away and turned back to face Melda.

“Leave. There’s nothing here for you.”

Melda shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Sure, you can. Just turn your wagon around and go somewhere else.”

“The next town is three days away. We need supplies. Just let us come in and buy what we need. We’ll leave straight after. I promise you, he will cause no trouble.”

Hal was unmoved. “He won’t cause any trouble because he isn’t coming in.”

“Please, Hal. We have to have those supplies.”

“Nope.”

Melda looked at Shorn. He knew what was coming next and moved closer to the gate.

“I’m trying to be reasonable,” she said. “I don’t want any problems. But we are coming in.”

Hal drew himself up. “Not on my watch.”

“You know, Shorn can break this wall down. He’s incredibly strong. It wouldn’t even be hard for him.”

Shorn didn’t know about breaking the wall itself, but he didn’t think the gate would hold up for very long. It seemed pretty flimsy.

Hal drew back, along with everyone else on the wall. There were a dozen people up there now. The wall wobbled under their weight.

Melda nodded to Shorn. He took hold of the gate and gave it a good shake. The whole palisade shook when he did so. One man fell off the wall with a yelp.

“What’s it going to be, Hal?”

Hal ducked down out of sight, others around him doing the same. Loud, whispered voices drifted down to them.

“Might as well let him in,” a man said. “He can knock the whole damn wall down.”

“Did you see the size of him? We’re not letting that thing in,” Hal replied.

“You going to stop him with that pitchfork, Hal? Is that your plan?”

“I took an oath to protect this town. I won’t stand down. I’m the captain of the guard. You all said so yourselves. I have to keep our people safe.”

“We made you captain because no one else wanted to do it.”

“And you begged us,” said another voice.

“We can’t fight among ourselves,” Hal pleaded. “That’s how he wins.”

“He wins because he’s the size of a barn. If he wants to come in, he’s coming in anyway. But by then he’ll be mad. I don’t want to see that thing mad,” said another.

“We all need to take a breath and not do anything foolish,” Hal insisted.

“I’m done arguing with you. I’m opening the gate.”

Hal protested as the man jumped down. Shorn could hear the bar holding the gate being lifted.

Hal hustled down to join him. There was some more arguing, and then the gate swung open.

The man who’d opened it was older, most of his hair gone, leaving only a fringe above his ears. He smiled uneasily at them.

“Welcome to Sweetwater.”

“It’s called Dale’s Camp,” Hal said sullenly. He was a young man, halfway through his twenties. His trousers and tunic were liberally stained with manure. There was more stuck to his pitchfork.

The older man ignored him. “I sure hope we’re not going to regret this.”

“You won’t,” Melda assured him.

“He’s not a monster,” Kit said. “Even if he looks like one.”

“Kit!” Melda reprimanded him.

“He’s our friend,” Lysa added. “Give him a chance.”

“Horsey rides,” Ren said.

The whole town had gathered by then. There were only a few score of them, wearing homespun clothes and tanned leather. Most carried some kind of weapon. All of them backed up when Shorn stepped forward. A few turned and ran, dropping their weapons.

Shorn stopped once they were inside. Melda stood up on the wagon seat. “His name is Shorn. He is a traveler from very far away. If it wasn’t for him, my children and I wouldn’t be here. You can trust him.”

Worried voices rose. They still looked close to running, but they stopped backing up.

Melda gave them a few moments, then surveyed the crowd and asked them, “Are we okay?”

“You’re okay,” the older man said. He stuck out his hand to Melda. “I’m Dale. I own the local general store.”

Melda took his hand. “I remember you from last year, Dale. It’s good to see you again. The cloth you sold us was excellent quality. I hope you have some more. These kids outgrow clothes faster than I can sew.”

“I believe I have something that will do. Come with me.”

They followed him into town. The small crowd parted to let them through. Whispers surrounded them. Children stared at Shorn with huge eyes before hiding behind their mother’s skirts. Other people stared at him out windows as they passed. Shorn could feel the tension in the air. He thought if he sneezed, it might start a panic.

Dale led them to one of the larger buildings in town. “Here’s my store. You can park your wagon right here.”

Shorn pulled the wagon in front of the store and shed the harness. Melda and the children went into the store, the children chattering excitedly. He paused before following them and turned to look the crowd over. They flinched and returned his gaze fearfully.

“What are you?” a brave soul cried out. It was someone in the back. Shorn couldn’t see who.

He took the hides out of the wagon and went inside.